Must Be From Brooklyn
by Bottles
Summary: Ever wonder what caused Racetrack to make that remark during the movie? Racetrack and Spot as kids.


Must Be From Brooklyn

By: Bottles

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**Disclaimer_:_** I do not own Newsies or any of the sexy guys they got to be in Newsies.  If I did I would be doing better things with my time than writing fan fic. ;) 

Yes, I realize they seem to get along well in the movie but there was just an underlying hint of tension in that comment in my opinion.  Also it's a side story to my fic, Up All Night which explains why later during the strike they seem to be friends.  

"Baby born with two heads.  Must be from Brooklyn."  

Race thought to himself, "stupid Brooklyn, stupid Spot."  Every time he heard about the infamous Spot Conlon and Brooklyn he always felt sick.  Then he left the room.  "Has it really been five years?  It seems like just yesterday that--," Racetrack had to stop himself because the memories were all too fresh in his mind.  The hurt, anger, and betrayal still cut into him like sharp knives.  No one knew about Anthony Higgins, Manhattan only knew him as Racetrack.  Everyone understood it was an unspoken rule to never ask another newsie about his past.  Racetrack was glad too.  His past all involved one little boy that he saved from death.  "Ha," he thought, "I saved him and look what I got in return, pain."

_Seven year-old Patrick Conlon was huddled in a __Manhattan__ alley.  Two weeks earlier his parents had left with his sister, promising to return to their meager _tenement apartment before nightfall.  A week later the landlord found Patrick sitting in his bed, waiting, waiting for parents that would never return.  In the next few hours Patrick found himself out on the streets with only the short-___sleeved shirt and pair of pants he had on.  The rest of the family's possessions were confiscated to pay for rent.  The week had been awful for Patrick.  It was nearing October and the temperature was quickly dropping.  _

_Anthony Higgins was running home as fast as he could.  He had snuck out of his family's small mansion to explore the city.  Just because he was seven didn't mean he was too young to step outside of the walls of his house.  As he ran by an alley on __2nd Street__ he couldn't help but hear the soft cries coming from behind a cardboard box.  Upon further investigation he saw a small boy with striking blue-grey eyes and dirty blond hair.  He noticed that the boy was filthy and looked as though he had not eaten in days.  _

_"Hello," young Anthony called out, "what is your name?  Are you okay?"_

_"I'se fine."  The boy shouted at Anthony before coming out from his shelter. Patrick looked at Anthony.  He was dressed in expensive garments and carried in his arms a royal blue sweater.  _

_"Well you look rather cold to me.  Here take this."  Anthony handed the shivering Patrick the sweater and Patrick looked at it with abhorrence.  The boy didn't look like he wanted to take Anthony's gift.  Anthony was confused to why, the boy looked so cold and like he needed some warmth.  He just must be stubborn Anthony reasoned.  _

_"What's dis, some kinda charity sweater?  I'se don't need your help rich kid.  Patrick Conlon can take care o' hisself."_

_Anthony stared at the grubby boy with a look of admiration.  He couldn't believe that this boy would rather shiver than take the sweater that he had more than enough of at his home.  Anthony admired him more than Patrick would know but Anthony's pride and smart mouth always got in the way.  _

_"Patrick," he exclaimed, "that's a name for big boys.  You look more like a dirty little spot on the ground."_

_Patrick leaped up and got into Anthony's face.  "What did ya call me?"_

_"Calm down, Spot," said Anthony, "Let's call it a nickname.  You can call me Tony.  You look hungry Spot.  Do you want to come back to my place and have some dinner?"_

_Anthony was afraid.  He knew that it was brave of him to insult the other boy, but he just could not help it.  Spot looked absolutely stunned.  Anthony braced himself for the possible fight that he was going to lose if Spot decided to challenge him.  He saw Spot's face soften as he could see the other boy's pride debating with his stomach.  _

_"Sure."_

_And with that the two boys ran quickly to the Higgins mansion.  A friendship had been made that would be tested and remain rock solid through it all, well almost.  _

Racetrack forced the pleasant memory from his mind.  It had been a fine sweater.  A gift from his father, before the incident.  Racetrack wondered what Spot had done with that sweater.  "Probably used it to fuel some fire," reasoned Racetrack's mind.  He had decided that Spot never cared about him anyway.  "He probably just used me for my wealth and kindness."

_"Spot?"  Tony's now nine year old voice called into the alley where they first met two years ago.  "Why did you run away like that?"  _

_Spot looked over from where he was practicing shooting bottles with his sling shot.  "You know your old man wouldn't be please if he saw me dere.  He doesn't take kindly to street trash in his fancy house."  _

_"Well I think you have worn out that charity sweater," Tony smiled, "That's why I am giving you this."  Tony handed Spot a key on a string.  "It opens the door on my balcony.  That way you can get in to sleep when it's cold."_

_Tony saw that Spot looked stunned.  Tony knew that his friend was beginning to develop a reputation around __New York__.  He laughed when he had heard what they called him, Spot Conlon.  He decided to keep the nickname after all.  Tony knew that Spot had a promising life ahead of him.   But he was standing there, mouth wide open, amazed at Tony's generosity.  _

_"Now you don't have to worry about my father anymore and you always have a good, warm place to sleep.  After all, you're my best friend Spot."_

_"T'anks Tony.  I really appreciate this," Spot gave his now famous smirk, "and youse me best friend too.  Just don't be sayin' dat too loud.  Brooklyn's got boidies everywhere and if I am gonna be King o' Brooklyn someday they gotta think dat I sleep on the alleys with no friends, not some hoity-toity mansion."_

_"Whatever Spotty," said Tony, knowing he was the only one that could get away with talking like that to Spot Conlon.  With a playful shove he tripped Spot and started running back to the mansion.  _

_Spot stood there, after regaining his balance, fingering the key before he took after Tony.  "I'll get ya Tony Higgins!"_

He stood up and began to walk towards Sheepshead.  Passing a window he couldn't help but pause and look at his reflection.   Seven years ago he would have seen a young boy in fine clothes with a genuine smile on his face and twinkle in his eye.  Now he just saw a poor sixteen year old boy dressed in mismatched clothes, barely getting by selling papers.  He was known as the smart-ass gambler who always had a reply for anything. He had a few guys he was close to, but he didn't have any good friends.  He just wouldn't allow it.  Friends meant pain… pain he knew all too well.  

Looking back in the window he saw what he would never be.  It was still him, but instead of worn garments he was adorned in some fine outfit the hoity-toity teenage boys would wear.  "That should be me."  Racetrack fought the memory.  

_"Damn it," huffed out Tony Higgins as he ran towards his family's mansion on __2nd Street__, "Father will murder me for being late again."  _

_Tony had been wandering around __Manhattan__ trying to find Spot.  He knew that Spot was coming across the bridge and was going to try and meet him before he got consumed in his newsboy duties.  Tony never understood how he could live that life.  Stealing, sleeping on the streets, starving.  "That is not the life for me," he thought.    _

_As Tony approached his house he began to struggle against the swarms of people that had gathered along the streets.  As he wondered what all the commotion was about, his worst fears were answered.  Tony Higgins looked up to see his beautiful home in flames.  Thoughts went to his mother and father, could they be alive?  _

_He ran past the firefighters and into the burning house.  The heat was unbearable and by the time the firefighters had pulled him out, he was covered in ash.  _

_"Where are they?"  Tony was anxiously awaiting the answer.  _

_"This your house," questioned the firefighter.  Tony could only nod his head.  _

_"Well son, I'm sorry to say but no one in that house is alive.  If you just sit here we can locate some of your relatives and inform them of this tragedy."_

_Tony took off like a bullet.  He was not sitting here with this strange man.  He was going to find Spot.  He could solve his problems.  Spot was his best friend.  _

_After an hour of searching Tony found himself in the alley that he first met Spot.  He decided to lie down before continuing his search.  Before he could get comfortable he heard familiar cursing of his best friend.  Tony whimpered as he croaked out a quiet, "Spot?" _

_Tony ran over to Spot and pulled him into a hug as he began to sob in his friend's arms.  _

_"What do I do now Spot?" Tony asked.  _

_"Well you can come back ta __Brooklyn_ wit me.  Live in the Lodging House.  It's nothin' like your home but it's the best I can do."__

_"So, I will get to be there when you become King O' __Brooklyn__?"_

_Spot smirked, "Tony, buddy, you can be me right hand man."_

_"Alright Spot.  Thanks."  _

Furiously Racetrack kicked at the ground around him.  He was stupid for thinking that Brooklyn would be nice.  He was stupid for believing Spot would make him his right hand man.  Racetrack swore he would never be that naïve again.  

_Tony was having a hard time dealing with __Brooklyn__.  First of all, he wasn't over the fire that claimed the lives of all those he loved and all he knew.  He went by Ricket now.  Spot told him that he had to leave his old life behind.  It was something he was trying to do, but Spot wouldn't realize that he needed some help.  He appreciated Spot taking him in, but what Tony really needed was a good friend—not the arrogant, tough guy that Spot acted like when he was in __Brooklyn_.  __

_"Whatcha doin' over der, Richie," questioned Ice.    
Tony looked up to see the large Brooklyn newsies and several of his friends coming his way.  Tony knew that Ice disliked him because of his closeness with Spot.  Ice  was planning on being Spot's right hand man when Spot gained power and he was not going to let some rich kid come in a take that away from him.  _

_"My name is Ricket," was all that Tony could reply before Ice kicked him hard in the stomach.  _

_"Comeon Richie let's fight.  You think youse so great comin' in here wit Spot but he don't care about you.  Youse just anuddah member of his fan club.  Youse just some rich kid who can't even talk like a newsie," declared Ice while planning another attack on the small boy.  _

_Tony was enraged.  How could he say that Spot didn't care about him?  In a moment of rage Tony cried out, "Spot cares about me.  He is my best friend and I am his best friend.  Go ask him and you will see."_

_Ice just stared at Tony before huffing off to locate Spot and question him.  Tony, being curious to see Ice's face when Spot announced their friendship hobbled over to follow Ice and his friends.  He was walking slowly due to the pain in his stomach and only caught Spot's last statement.  _

_"Spot Conlon doesn't have any friends."_

Racetrack smirked.  "Racetrack Higgins doesn't have any friends either."  

The Manhattan boys loved Race as one of their own.  They knew nothing of his previous life as Tony, or even of his short life as Ricket.  He knew they were good people.  He loved Manhattan, they weren't afraid to soak someone, but they were not always out looking for a fight.  As much as they tried Racetrack always remained aloof.  He would not get too close to anyone.  Maybe if they knew about his past they would understand.  But that would involve questions and knowing the Manhattaners they would try and resolve Spot and his problem.  

"No," decided Racetrack.  They knew he hated Brooklyn.  But he would be damned if they would ever figure out why.  

He snubbed out his cigar and continued to walking to the races.  Little did he know that the big shots of the newspaper industry were planning something.  And he would have to confront the past that he had been running from for so long.  The past named—Spot Conlon.  

AN: This is actually the companion to the second chapter of Up All Night.  It addresses the same memory, but from Spot's point of view (angsty Spot goodness!!!).  I didn't include this in there because it doesn't go along with the plot that I have for that story.  So go read that too!  Please?  

Anyway… that's my rant.  Please review!!  


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